Downfall by Mark Rubinstein

Author:Mark Rubinstein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
Published: 2023-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

WHEN YOU’RE SCOPING out a kill, you familiarize yourself with the target and the terrain.

It takes a lot of groundwork. Lots of preparation for a surefire kill.

On a cold Sunday afternoon in December, East Eighty-Fourth Street was deserted—there was hardly a soul on the streets because of a nasty wind whipping in off the East River.

But it was a perfect day for reconnaissance.

The building is on the corner of East Eighty-Fourth and Third Avenue. It’s a potential kill zone. While standing on the corner and scoping things out, a car turned onto the ramp leading to the below-ground garage. Moving down the ramp and getting into the garage before the corrugated door rolled back down was easy. Once in there, I crouched behind an already parked vehicle. The driver parked his car, got out, and walked to the elevator.

It looked like a perfect place for an ambush—dimly lit and deserted. Rick Shepherd has a reserved spot in the garage. But there was no sign of the blue Chevy Malibu. Meaning he was away, not in the building. There was no way to know when he’d get back. If his car had been in its parking spot, it would have been easy to take the elevator upstairs to his floor.

And then ring the apartment bell, wait until he opened the door.

And Boom.

But I purposely left the gun at home. This was a dry run. Preparation, preparation. That’s key. It won’t be like it was when I shot down that guy on Seventy-Ninth Street by mistake. This one will be planned, executed cleanly and accurately.

Suddenly, the garage door rose again.

Another car rolled down the ramp.

Ducking behind a parked vehicle was the only thing to do.

It was the Chevy Malibu.

And who got out of the car? Rick Shepherd. Alone. Not another soul in sight.

He was an easy target.

But without the gun, staying hidden was my only option.

By not having the gun, I blew my best chance of taking him down.

Forget a garage ambush. Too many unknowns that could prevent the kill.

The telephone calls have revealed a great deal about his schedule. But the problem is where to make it happen.

Tracking the father from Cranberry Street to East Nineteenth was easy. It just meant waiting outside the house until he left to make a house call. The kill was in the lobby of a building on a deserted street in Brooklyn. It was a piece of cake.

In Manhattan there are too many people, too much activity. It’s not a good kill zone.

There has to be a better place to get him.

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